


Does his love make your head spin?

by vexmybones



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Are Awesome, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Break Up, Civil War Does Not Exist, F/M, Heartbreak, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Beta Read, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Homophobia, Run-On Sentences, Tissue Warning, and regrets nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 05:42:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6272062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vexmybones/pseuds/vexmybones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'He’ll never be completely ‘normal’ and he’s okay with that. He’s at peace with that. That isn’t what makes him toe the line, what makes him curious what the free fall would feel like the second time around. No, it’s stupid actually.<br/>It’s Steve.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Does his love make your head spin?

**Author's Note:**

> Tissue and/or alcohol warning here, folks.  
> Because if I did this properly you're gonna need both.

 

 

There’s a breeze this morning; its fingers caress him with a feather-light touch. His bare toes wiggle upsetting a fly from its perch. The sky is a clear and beautiful blue; he tries not to let it distract him from this moment of peace, as it’s the same shade of a pair of familiar eyes. He raises his cigarette to his lips pulling the smoke into his lungs then watches as it dances away from him with the wind as its invisible partner. He thinks that maybe this is better, that just maybe he made the right choice. Before he can delve any deeper into the why of things, the smell of coffee and the sound of a hinge that needs oil draws him back to the present. The hint of a smile plays on his mouth as a chipped mug obscures his view of the sky.

“What are you so happy about?”

“Fresh air,” he replies and trades his smoke for the coffee.

There’s a snort and his smile gets a little bigger. He hides it behind the mug and takes a sip. It’s bitter and black, and he closes his eyes as the heat warms his chest on its way down. It isn’t perfect, but it’s good, and he thinks he deserves a little goodness in his life.

 

* * *

 

3 ½ _months earlier…_

 

“You’re cheating!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are. I don’t know how you’re doing it but I won’t stand for it.”

“You’re such a drama queen, Stark.”

“Oh, shut up, you’re just glad he’s on your team.”

“It’s ‘Operation’, Tony, there aren’t any teams.”

Bucky watches them from his spot on in the armchair, his gaze pinging from one Avenger to the other. He remembers Steve’s competitive streak, but he’s almost positive Stark’s is _worse_. He suspects that if they were playing poker Steve wouldn’t be fairing much better than Stark at the moment, though; the man couldn’t lie to save his life.

“…whatever, I’m done with you heathens.” Bucky tunes back into the conversation and watches Tony get to his feet, pointing at Steve and Natalia with an accusing finger. “I’m taking this game back and finding one you can’t win!” With a childish huff he exits the room leaving them all rolling their eyes.

“Well, I guess game night is over,” Sam sighs and drains his beer then stands.

Steve and Nat follow his lead, packing up the game boards into their respective boxes, and clearing the coffee table. Bucky waits until Steve gives him an easy smile and says goodnight to the others before he stands and trails behind him. They leave Stark’s penthouse and walk to the elevator in comfortable silence, Bucky’s shoulders easing from tight attention to a slump as soon as the door slides closed.

Bucky’s been a resident of Stark (Avengers) Tower for almost a year now, but he still has massive trust issues. He finds it hard to let his guard down, even an inch, if anyone besides Steve is in the room. Although he’s been in therapy and actually making progress, it’s still hard to accept that he has a choice when it comes to anything, really. The fact that he can pick and choose his friends, and he uses the term loosely, boggles his ravaged mind. Simply not flinching when someone comes round their place, or smiling a genuine smile not tainted with suspicion at Natalia or Sam is a great feat. But, he’s done it. With their help he’s stitched up the broken pieces of his memory, reinforced the cracks with duct tape, and managed to shape a silhouette that’s some kind of bastardized version of his former self. No, it isn’t perfect, it isn’t even great, but it’s _okay_. Pressure on his left shoulder makes him glance to the reason he’s still standing and he smiles.

“You alright?” Steve asks, his voice warm and tinted with mild concern.

“I’m alright,” he replies just as the door opens on their floor. Bucky moves to exit the lift expecting Steve to follow, but the hand on his shoulder tightens to stall him. Glancing over his shoulder he raises a brow in question.

“You hungry? I thought I might go up to the kitchen and grab something.”

Like a light bulb exploding, that feeling of contentment in his gut is squashed. Working to remain pliant, Bucky shrugs. He could have eaten, there’s food in their cabinets, but any traces of his appetite are suddenly gone. Steve takes his silence and indecision as a positive and nods with a smile, giving his shoulder another squeeze before letting him go and stepping back. Bucky doesn’t bother returning the affection as he steps from the elevator and takes a right without a backward glance. His spine remains straight even though there’s no one to see. He punches in the pass code to get into their apartment, and it’s only when the door closes and the lock clicks audibly into place that he drops all traces of bravado.

A year is a long time to get used to certain things. It’s especially a long while to observe things, people. And when no one is willing to approach you and you’re left to stand against the wall on the outskirts like a shy girl at a dance, well, it’s easier to discern a situation. And this is Bucky’s situation. The way his hand shakes and his heart beats out a sick rhythm. The way their apartment is a dark vacuum doing its best to suck the breath from his lungs. He knows, he isn’t stupid, he—

“Sgt. Barnes, your vitals indicate that you are experiencing anxiety,” Jarvis’ voice is quiet in the empty room, not enough to set him off but enough to make him squeeze his eyes closed and mutter a ‘ _no shit’_. “Shall I alert Captain Rogers that you are in need of assistance?”

“No,” he grits through his teeth and takes a deep breath like Sam taught him. “I’m fine,” Bucky whispers just loud enough so that the AI will leave him alone.

Fucking panic attacks. Fucking Stark and his stupid, nosey technology. Fucking _Stark_.

It isn’t the first time he’s had a panic attack, not by a long shot, but they’ve been happening more frequently in the last month or so. And he knows why. You would think with his background that it’d take a lot to shake him, but you’d be wrong. He’s been dancing on the knife’s edge since Steve dragged him in and sure, he _is_ some better, but not completely. He’ll never be completely ‘normal’ and he’s okay with that. He’s at peace with that. That isn’t what makes him toe the line, what makes him curious what the free fall would feel like the second time around. No, it’s stupid actually.

It’s Steve.

It’s always been Stevie and his stupid face. That face with a mouth that makes you wonder what it’d be like to taste, with big eyes that always shone with stubborn pride. It’s the slope of his slightly crooked nose where that jackass Yancey in fifth grade broke it for the first time. It’s Steve’s long, slender artist’s fingers that have held Bucky’s broken bones in them and tried to mend them, cussing with every short breath like a sailor, and making him smile through the pain. It’s the way Steve’s eyes used to get soupy when Bucky, with his head in Steve’s bony lap, would read to him tales of true love and dragons from past due library books. It’s the way his cheeks would heat up under the dirt of a foxhole streaked across them, and paint him a pretty shade of pink that crept under the collar of his uniform…

Bucky slowly drags in a shaky breath, his chest rising with the action as he drags his right hand over his face. When he’d gotten his first memory of them _together_ back, he had watched that very flush color his friend’s face. It had been an awkward conversation with starts and stops, blunt questions from himself, and tongue tied answers from Steve. In the end he hadn’t considered that they wouldn’t pick up where they’d left off. It hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Steve spent the majority of his time with Bucky anyway. But over time, once the muck in his head was cleared away like soggy sandbags after a flood, he began to notice that, while Steve was present, he wasn’t really always _there_. He kept his phone close and the second it would alert him to a message or email, or whatever he used it for, he would zone out, focus given over completely to the small device. At first Bucky found it amusing; that Steve, who would rather have a piece of paper and a pencil at hand, would be so attached to a sliver of technology. Then it became annoying. Once he was considered as a permanent fixture among the Avengers and Steve risked letting him off of their floor alone, Bucky noticed just how irritating it was. The only time Steve would put the damned thing down was when he was asleep, at a mission briefing, on said mission, or if Bucky had him bare and panting. (He preferred the latter to all others because it seemed to be the only time he had Steve’s undivided attention.)

But he noticed one other occasion that apparently warranted Steve’s attention over his infernal phone; when he was in Stark’s company. Bucky tried to tell himself it was just his conditioning labeling Stark as a threat, that the engineer was just a thorn in Stevie’s side. Natalia confirmed his theory but there was something in the way she wouldn’t talk about it. She refused to discuss Steve’s years awake before he found Bucky, declaring that it wasn’t her story to divulge. While he respected her loyalty to Stevie, he was suspicious of her tight lips. Steve on the other hand said there was nothing to tell, his tale of waking up and fighting aliens, while detailed, left something to be desired. Bucky just couldn’t put his finger on it for the longest time.

Then he overheard something that made his recently righted world tilt dangerously out of balance.

Pushing away from the door, Bucky grabs his jacket off the hook and leaves back through the door. Foregoing the elevator, he takes the stairs, jogging up four floors and slipping silently into a deserted hall. Shrugging into his jacket, he makes his way into another dark apartment, this one slightly smaller than his and Steve’s and set up in a mirror of it. Skirting a leather recliner that’s seen better days, a pair of boots that would trip up a lesser intruder, and a tiny cafe table that serves as a catch-all, he eases the lock back on the door that leads out to a small balcony. Bucky settles onto a rickety chair, the orange paint peeling and drifting to the concrete every time someone sits in it, and tugs a half-empty pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Lighting up, he inhales deeply and upturns his face to the polluted, cloudy sky and coaxes his mind to go blissfully blank.

 

\- - -

 

Steve polishes off his sandwich and washes it down with a drink of water. He knows it’s stupid, that _he_ is being foolish, but he just wanted to check on him. The buzz of his phone by his elbow captures his attention and he fumbles to set his bottle down and grab it.

‘ _Goodnight, Cap,’_ is all it says and it makes his heart sink.

Sighing, he cleans up his trash and heads back down to his floor, opting to take the stairs so he has a little more time to think. Tony’s texts had been less frequent and far less personal in the few months since Steve had officially called it quits. He winces remembering the way it had happened…

_“You’re not as enthusiastic as you should be…why are you not as happy to see me as you should be?” Tony’s voice was sarcastic but Steve could hear the apprehension in his tone._

_“Sorry, I’m just tired,” Steve sighed, his arms going slack where they held the shorter man._

_“We’re always tired, it comes with the job.”_

_Laughing without any mirth, Steve dropped his forehead to Tony’s shoulder, more to hide his expression than anything else. Tony’s hands grasped his arms and shoved him a little indicating that he knew and didn’t like it. Steve took a deep breath and steeled himself before straightening._

_“What did I do?”_

_“Nothing!”_

_“Then why are you acting like I killed your favorite puppy?” his hands reached up to bracket Steve’s face. “Did Frosty say something mean to you, because I can lock his ass up in Brucie’s box quicker than—” Steve clapped a hand over the rambling man’s mouth and shook his head._

_“It… no, it’s not that,” he searched Tony’s gaze and found nothing but concern which made this a hundred times more difficult. “Tony…” Steve trailed off unsure how to do this. He’d **never** had to do this before and it was all kinds of painful. “I—I don’t think I can do this anymore,” he gently wrapped his hands around Stark’s wrists and stepped back watching Tony’s brows furrow in confusion. But he was quick. _

_“Ha-ha, very funny, but April Fools isn’t for a few months. Nice try, though, you really had me going.”_

_“Tony, I’m serious,” Steve said with a bit more backbone, knowing that if he didn’t he’d cave and hide there from the very person he moved heaven and hell just to get back._

_He saw the exact moment that Tony realized that this wasn’t a joke. His eyes shuttered and his hands fell from Steve’s cheeks. Steve’s heart had broken as the man that he’d come to know as cocky and confident, but sweet and scared as all hell inside, turned into a different person before his eyes. The Tony that stood before him was fake, a personality slipped on like an old, worn out coat. He’d nodded and squared his shoulders, cleared his throat then finally spoke._

_“Understood, Cap.”_

_“Tony—”_

_“No, don’t,” Tony had demanded clearly trying to rein in his emotions. “This doesn’t need to be awkward, okay? We still live in the same space and work together. That’s all. This is just a minor hiccup, a speed bump in the road. We’ve been through worse, right?”_

_Steve had just nodded in response and convinced himself that it didn’t really hurt when Tony turned his back on him without another word. Clearly dismissed, he’d left and gone straight to the gym._

Honestly, Steve had assumed that the breakup would have been a dramatic thing seeing as how it involved Tony Stark, but he’d been mistaken. It took a few weeks before Tony would directly acknowledge him or be in the same room with him for more than ten minutes after that. And if the rest of the team had found out about their barely concealed relationship let alone of their split, none of them had let on. Bucky, though… he’d been different after that night for some reason, too. Paranoid, Steve had been assured by Jarvis that he’d been somewhere off playing video games with Barton at the time, so he’d shrugged it off.

Pushing the door open into the hall of their floor, Steve heaves a sigh. He’s so fucked up and doesn’t know how to fix any of it without someone getting hurt. Entering the code, he moves into the dark apartment and calls Bucky’s name. There’s a moment of acidic panic that rushes up his throat when it’s met with silence. Jarvis kindly, and quickly, soothes his worry and Steve can’t help but frown when he tells him where the other man is. He has no right to be jealous that Bucky is on Barton’s floor, especially since the archer isn’t even there. So really, seeing as how he’d just snuck off to the communal kitchen for a snack (in the hopes that Tony would be there) when his own kitchen was fully stocked, he doesn’t have a right.

Steve kicks his shoes off and pads on his sock encased feet straight to the bathroom for a shower, hoping that it will relieve some of the tension in his shoulders. He can’t shut his mind down, the silence too loud, as he steps under the hot spray, though. He loves Bucky, has _always_ loved him. Hell, his world has revolved around him since the boy with skinned knees and messy, brown hair had swooped in and tried to save him from a bully. Bucky makes his heart beat faster and he’s one lucky guy to have him. But circumstances change. He’d mourned Bucky before he’d put that plane down in the ice, then again when he’d woken up in a strange new time. Steve had had to adjust to a world that didn’t have Bucky by his side; he’d thought he’d crossed the end of the line by himself.

Tony Stark had been a surprise. One with eyes so like Howard’s, with biting words that didn’t leave room for false pretenses, and with a smile that made his chest hurt. He’d assumed Bucky was _it_ once, and that he’d never need or want anyone else, but he’d been wrong. Tony had swept in, in all of his flashy, snarky glory and irritatingly burrowed his way under Steve’s skin. He still isn’t sure how it had happened, but the fact is that it _had_. And as much as he loves Bucky, there are things that he misses, things that he grew used to in his absence.

Tony is one of them.

Shutting the water off, Steve gives up trying to calm his racing thoughts. When he crawls into his empty bed he feels a moment of guilt that he’s a titch relieved Bucky isn’t waiting on him. It’s getting harder to let himself get lost in Bucky. Yes, he’s fucking thrilled that his friend remembered what they used to mean to each other. He’s happy that he shares a home with the man that he loves… but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that there’s something missing. He falls into a fitful sleep, curled on his side and alone.

 

\- - -

 

_Two weeks later,_ it’s at a fancy charity event that things begin a slow descent into Hell. Bucky is only here because Barton and Natalia had bullied him into it. Steve knows he hates these things and would rather be parked in front of their big screen. He’d been useless at convincing them that Bucky didn’t need to make an appearance. But Natalia wouldn’t hear of it and Barton’s ‘ _If I have to go, so do you_ ’ had stamped his ticket. So, here he was, hair slicked back and in a damn ponytail (he refused to cut it yet), and in a fucking uncomfortable suit. It was a damn shame that alcohol didn’t have that much of an effect on him these days.

“I throw a hellacious shindig, don’t I?” Stark remarks to his right and Bucky’s spine goes straight at the other man’s voice. He drains his whiskey and motions to the bartender for another before glancing at Tony.

“Eh, I’ve seen bigger and better,” he deadpans.

Stark scoffs and swigs whatever’s in his tumbler before shooting his comeback; “Elaborate?”

“Howie used to throw swell parties,” Bucky lets a small smile curl his lips because it’s something he actually remembers. “Yeah, when he wasn’t locked up in a bunker with Stevie, he’d find the prettiest dames and we’d cut up a rug. Hell, sometimes there weren’t any birds and he’d somehow smuggle in liquor for us anyway. Man was a saint.”

Tony is quiet, more so than usual, and Bucky peers at him over the rim of his now full glass. The man’s a little pale, but it could just be the harsh lights, he isn’t sure. He doesn’t look as put together as he normally does at these things, though. Bucky idly wonders if it has something to do with Steve.

“Riiight,” Stark finally says then tosses back his drink. He motions to the bartender just as Bucky had the moment before. But instead of letting the guy fill up his glass, he snatches the entire bottle out of his hand and pushes away from the bar.

“Stark?” Bucky tries but the man just gives him a mock salute and disappears into the crowd.

For two hours, Bucky nurses whatever is poured into his glass, sticking to the side of the bar and giving anyone brave enough to approach him a glare. He watches Steve and Stark; the way they dance around each other fancier than some English waltz. He refuses to dance when Natalia asks and gets his own glare for the rejection. Sam and Clint attempt to draw him into a conversation but they know when he’s pushing his social limits and leave him be. He thanks God when the guests finally start to leave and eagerly seeks Steve out.

They’re in the lobby of the ritzy hotel making plans to order pizza and end the night with a movie when suddenly Stark speaks up.

“Well, that’s nice. Have fun.”

Steve stops mid-sentence and turns to Tony with confusion, “You’re joining us, Tony.”

“No,” he waves a hand and Bucky realizes that he’s drunk. “I just provide the money for these things, you know, keeping a roof over your head, food in your bottomless stomach. It’s not a big deal. I’m sure it’s not as nice when dear, old Dad was around—Oh wait, yeah it is. It’s _better,_ ” he sneers.

“Stark, what are you going on about now?” Sam asks.   

Bucky feels his gut twist with guilt when the engineer’s hand waves vaguely in his direction. He hopes that the others just think he’s wasted. Steve doesn’t miss it, though.

“It doesn’t matter… I’m out of here!” Tony says and goes to take a step but stumbles. Steve grabs him, ignoring the way Stark tries to squirm out of his hold.

“Buck, can you catch a ride back to the tower with Natasha? I’m gonna make sure Tony gets home alright.”

Bucky has no choice but to set his jaw and nod. He wishes they’d taken Stark’s earlier offer to carpool in a limo instead of taking separate cars now. He watches Steve guide a grumbling Tony out the door and ignores the burn of the others’ gazes on him. With a nudge to his arm, Barton gets him moving a minute later. The ride back to the tower is filled with quiet talk, but he stares out the window so they won’t speak to him. Once he’s back in his and Steve’s apartment, he quickly strips out of his suit and changes into sweats and a t-shirt. He loses the ponytail, grabs a beer, and settles down on the couch. Not bothering to turn the TV on, Bucky sighs and he waits.

 

_“Seriously?”_

_“Yes,” he says instead of his usual ‘yeah’, feeling that the situation deserves a proper promise. His stomach is filled with butterflies that he’s only heard his sister talking about. He’d always figured it was just some girly thing that she’d made up to impress her younger siblings. He was wrong._

_“You can’t mean that, Buck,” Stevie whispers and his cheeks are the prettiest shade of pink Bucky’s ever seen._

_“But I do, pal,” Bucky whispers back, his sweaty palm reaching up to tug on one of Steve’s suspenders. “I wanna marry you some day. No one but us has’ta know about it. I ain’t stupid, Stevie.”_

_Steve swallows thickly and Bucky watches his eyes fill up. Groaning as he gets his knees up off of the hard, wooden floor, he wraps his arms around the most infuriating and perfect gift he’s ever been given. When skinny arms snake clumsily around him then squeeze him with a strength that isn’t supposed to be in them, Bucky rubs a palm soothingly along Steve’s spine. He waits until the blonde’s breaths return to what’s his normal, and he quits sniffling so much, then he kisses him._

_He hasn’t got a fancy ring and knows his guy wouldn’t want that anyway. He doesn’t have a lot of money, working down at the docks when he can, and anywhere else that’ll pay him. But he knows Stevie doesn’t care. Bucky knows what people would think if they ever found out, and he hopes Steve can ignore his fears and just let them have this one thing. It’s all Bucky wants, **he** is all Bucky wants. _

_His own eyes are watery when Stevie finally breathes out a small ‘yes’ against his lips. Bucky yelps in victory, picks up his fiancé, and kisses him in earnest._

_“Buck,” Steve mumbles into the kiss and Bucky ignores it in favor of another taste. “Bucky,” he repeats patting his left shoulder, his clammy palm sticking to the brunette’s bare and sun-kissed skin._

“Bucky,” Steve says and shakes his shoulder again. Bucky frowns, confused before his eyes pop open. He goes from ecstatic and warm to nauseous and cold in between the tick of a second. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wishes he hadn’t been woken. There’s a light on in the corner of the room now and Steve is still in his tailored, yet rumpled, suit.

“What time is it?” he asks and it sounds slurred and rushed; ‘ _whatim’sit?_ ’

“After two,” Steve answers.

Bucky straightens out of his slouch, rubbing his weary eyes, when he notices Steve’s stance. It’s defensive, arms crossed, and it looks like there’s a bee in his bonnet, as his Ma used to say. He raises a brow at the soldier.

“What did you say to Tony tonight?”

“Oh,” Bucky winces. So that’s what this was about. Shit. He shrugs. “Nothing, really. He made some comment about how great his party was. I was nice, practically chatty.”

“Did you mention Howard?”

“Well, yeah…”

Steve’s arms uncross and his hands settle on his hips. Bucky wants to make a comment about how much he resembles Sarah when he does that, but he refrains. Steve’s lips are shaking and Bucky has only ever known two things to happen when they do. He’s both angry and trying to keep from shouting or he’s trying to hold back tears. Neither are a good sign.

“How—you _know_ you shouldn’t talk about Howard around Tony, Bucky. He didn’t know him the way we did. It’s a sore spot and I don’t appreciate you intentionally poking at it.”

There’s a rush of anger that sends him to his feet. He balls his fists at his sides to keep from punching Steve. He doesn’t like to be accused of things he didn’t do.

“I was making polite conversation, Steve,” he states calmly. “I wasn’t aware that I had to treat the man like a child with daddy issues. He’s a grown man and it really isn’t my problem if he goes on a bender because someone mentioned his old man.”

“It damn well _is_ your problem!”

“ _No_ , it isn’t,” Bucky grits out feeling the control on his anger slowly slipping.

“ _It’s your fault!_ ” Steve all but yells at him.

Bucky feels the anger completely drain from him. It’s like a bucket of ice water’s been tossed over his head but it’s only on the inside that he feels it. His veins are filled with ice all over again. There is accusation in Steve’s words and in his eyes. Bucky knows, he’s read the file, and… he remembers. He _knows_ what he did to Howard _and_ Maria Stark. Without even closing his eyes he can see Howard’s eyes full of terror and confusion. That last second between life and death had crawled on, and at the time he hadn’t understood, or cared, but later—oh, later that nearly silent ‘ _sorry’_ had finally meant something. Only Natalia and Clint knew that he’d remembered. Barton had begrudgingly given him a single file to read on the matter of their deaths. Bucky had locked himself inside his room and refused to come out for three days. He’d vomited until his stomach ached and cried till bone dry. He had destroyed his room in a fit of rage and finally passed out due to either sleep deprivation, dehydration, or both. He’d woken up two days later in an uncomfortable hospital bed on the med floor.

Steve’s words bring that horror flooding back. Bucky watches as he realizes what he’s said and who he’s said it to. He tries to backpedal, but it’s far too late now that the words have been spoken. 

“I—I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry, Buck. I—”

Bucky doesn’t stay to listen to him apologize. He moves around Steve without touching him and before Steve can say his name again, he’s out the door. Not paying attention to where he’s going, letting instinct alone guide him, he completely checks out. He hadn’t known that Steve felt that way, that he blamed him. Steve had promised him that he didn’t blame him for anything he’d done under Hydra’s influence. Apparently, Steve had lied.

Bucky gets lost in the city lights.

 

\- - -

 

Panting, Steve falls back to the sheets, sweaty and in dire need of a shower. He grunts as a hand gracelessly pats his chest and his face making him laugh breathlessly. Closing his eyes, he merely grunts when Bucky springs out of bed naked as the day he was born and goes in search of water. As his heartbeat returns to normal, Steve reflects over the last month and a half.

After the fiasco that had been the charity gala and the following week, Steve had been doing his best to patch things up between himself and Bucky. So far, it appeared to be working. He’d thought he’d lost Bucky for sure that night, though. Once he’d realized what an absolute jackass he’d been by letting his temper get the best of him, he’d gone after Bucky, although it hadn’t done him any good. The man hadn’t been called a ghost before for no reason. It had taken Steve and Natasha four days to pin him down. Getting him to come back had been a nightmare, too. Steve had to do a lot of begging and pleading before Bucky would even _consider_ returning to the tower. But in the end, he had gone willingly. Steve was never going to forgive himself for hurting Bucky like that, nor was he likely to forget the look that had graced his friend’s face.

Taking a deep breath, he waits for the feeling of guilt to settle in his chest. Yep—there it is; Guilt that he doesn’t feel more after what they’ve just done. Guilt that he misses the way Tony always turned to him after sex and just stared at him with that little _happy_ smirk. God, he misses that smirk. Rolling off the bed, he shakes off his self-disgust and heads to the shower. Bucky joins him a couple minutes later and Steve tries to forget the outside world for just a little while longer, even though they’re late for breakfast with Sam. Little does he know that this will be their last peaceful moment for a while.

During a late brunch, the alarm goes off and it’s ‘Avengers Assemble’.

 

\- - -

 

While he isn’t exactly considered an Avenger, Bucky still helps out when they’ll allow him to join them. It’s okay because he isn’t really ready to have that kind of spotlight on him again. He sticks to the rooftops with Barton and like him only goes to the frontline when needed. And it’s good, it lets him blow off steam every once in a while by bashing a Doombot, or shooting a Hydra agent. That being said, it doesn’t explain why he’s currently in the middle of a street punching Iron Man in the face. He’s not dumb enough to put all of his strength behind it, but there’s enough to make it _hurt_. Stark’s bound to have a shiner, and that makes Bucky feel a little better.

His ears are full of raised voices and ringing from the pure adrenaline that comes with getting into an old fashioned fight. His arm is cocked back and ready to fly again when it’s yanked backward instead. Spinning around, he maneuvers to knock the feet out from under whoever was stupid enough to touch him and is suddenly plucked off his feet. He only sees a blur of red before arms clamp unforgivingly around his middle pinning his arms to his side and he’s hoisted higher into the air. Thor doesn’t utter a word in the thirty seconds it takes him to soar to the rooftop Barton’s on. He unceremoniously drops him and takes off again. Bucky grunts at the impact and springs to his feet only to find Hawkeye’s bow aimed at his head. He stops mid-step as his heart sinks to the pit of his stomach.

Barton rolls his eyes and sidesteps him, firing at a drone that Bucky hadn’t noticed right away. Ignoring the smirk on the archer’s face, Bucky listens to Clint call the all clear and the others echo it. What had started out as another robot infestation in New Jersey, a simple but exhausting mission, had turned into another in-house disaster. At least in Bucky’s case, that is. His job is to watch their backs, but his first priority is Steve. His job is _not_ to sit quietly and listen to Stark run his fucking mouth. All it had taken was one little inside joke, one second of Steve being distracted long enough to get thrown thirty feet. If Stark hadn’t been _flirting_ with his fucking Stevie, Bucky would have behaved himself.

The fucking idiot had not heeded Natalia’s, or Sam’s, or even _Steve’s_ warnings to shut up. He’d just kept on and on. Once Bucky saw Steve go flying like a ragdoll, he’d taken out the bot responsible, jumped off the building, and was headed toward Stark like a freight train before he’d even known what he was doing. Tony had laughed and Bucky’d had a sudden flashback to when he’d been fifteen and cocky. He’d thought nothing could hurt him, thought himself invincible. He’d gotten cornered by a junkyard dog once when he cut home through a field, though, and had made the mistake of looking it in the eyes. He’d never run so fast in his life before and if it hadn’t been for his big sister chasing it off, he might have lost a limb sooner. Hearing Stark’s laugh ring through the comms while Sam hefted Steve to his feet had made Bucky _snap._  

He’d ripped the faceplate of the Iron Man suit clean off and barreled his right fist into the smug bastard’s face. He’d used his right because he knew if he used his left that there wouldn’t be anything left of Tony’s face but a bloody hole. Besides, he didn’t want to kill him, honest. He just wanted to maim him a little. He got Steve hurt and he deserved it after all.

“Debrief in an hour,” Steve says tiredly.

Bucky takes his comm out after that.

 

\- - -

 

Four hours later, Steve finally gets to go up to his floor. He’s aching all over, he’s full after grabbing a bite with Sam, and he just wants to go to sleep. But he knows it’s still going to be a while before that gets to happen. He’s had enough and he’s exhausted, not just from fighting Doombots, though.

Tony’s still unconscious; they assure him that he only has a mild concussion and will be fine.

Steve resists the urge to bang his head against the nearest wall. That morning everything had been nice and calm, stable even. He hadn’t expected for a metaphorical volcano to erupt. But, really, he should have expected the other shoe to drop. Inhaling sharply, Steve punches in their code and lets himself in.

“Hey, you’re finally back! I’ll heat up some grub. Barton made me eat Chinese again but I saved you an eggroll,” Bucky rambles as soon as he sees Steve.

“I, ah, I already ate with Sam,” he says a little sheepishly.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs and motions to the couch. Bucky sits back down with a frown beginning to wrinkle his forehead.

“Everything okay?”

“Not really…”

“Is Stark dead?”

Steve flinches at the absolute flat tone that Bucky’s voice takes on. Well, that answers a question or two. He shakes his head and eases down into an armchair. Leaning forward, he props his elbows on his thighs and scrubs the heels of his hands into his tired eyes.

“He has a mild concussion, though,” Steve says and blinks Bucky into focus. “You could have really hurt him, Bucky.”

“But I didn’t,” is his instant reply.

“I know, and I’m sure he’s grateful…” he trails off and catches the smallest tick in his lover’s jaw.

“But you aren’t,” Bucky states instead of questions and Steve shakes his head.

“He was just being annoying; it’s how he works. He didn’t mean—”

“He got you hurt. It’s _his_ fault that you got distracted.”

“I know that, but I’m okay.”

“That isn’t the point, Steve!” Bucky replies and surges to his feet. “One wrong move and it’d be your life on the line. You can’t afford to get distracted; you aren’t a cat with nine lives!”

“None of us are,” Steve says quietly and sits back, watching while Bucky paces in front of the TV.

“You don’t _get IT_!” Bucky yells and rounds on him. “You don’t fucking understand, do you? You’re all that I have left and I—I won’t let another _Stark_ put you in danger.” He reaches up and digs his fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots in frustration. “This is all Howard- _fucking_ -Stark’s fault. He’s the reason why you went and changed on me. He’s the damn _reason_ ,” Bucky barks out an ugly laugh when his voice breaks on the word. He won’t meet Steve’s eyes, but Steve can’t see him through his tears anyway so it doesn’t matter. When he continues, his voice is barely above a whisper. “He took you away from me, made the outside finally match the inside. But you know what, Stevie? You were always perfect to me anyhow. When you were a little spitfire, you fit right in my arms in that tiny bed we had. And it was fucking _perfect._ ”

Steve opens his mouth to say something… _anything_ , but Bucky waves him off.

“I had plans to come back home and make you mine,” his smile is more of a grimace. “Then I fell and Hydra scrambled my brain around like the damn Cyclone we used to ride. I—I might have forgotten you for a while, but when I first saw you on that roof, the night I shot Fury, yeah, I remember. That night, all it took was your stupid face to shake whatever shit they’d done to me.” Steve swallows hard and wipes at his face with a fist. “When I pulled you out of the river, I thought that was the end. Then your dumbass had to hunt me down. Why didn’t you leave me alone, Steve? They say ignorance is bliss for a reason, ya know.” Bucky scrubs at his face with a shaking hand. “I figured this was my chance, finally, my turn to do something right…” he takes a deep breath and Steve’s watery gaze tracks him around the room. Then he sits down on the edge of their coffee table, his knees brushing Steve’s.

Bucky meets his eyes, finally.

“Here I thought I’d had it all figured out, but another Stark beat me to the goddamn punch line.”

Steve’s eyes widen at the insinuation and he knows without a doubt that Bucky knows everything.

“Yeah, by that look I’m guessing the cat’s outta the bag, huh?”

“How…?” Steve croaks and Bucky shrugs, the picture of nonchalance, minus the wet, red-rimmed eyes.

“I accidentally caught you two neckin’ a few months ago.”

“The night I broke it off?”

“My apologies, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis chimes in and he realizes that the AI had flat out lied to him.

“He owed me a favor,” Bucky jokes quietly.

“I… I’m sorry, Bucky,” Steve whispers.

“Water under the bridge, pal.” 

Steve sighs heavily and searches Bucky’s gaze like he did Tony’s the night he ended things with him. He suspects that things won’t be so smooth sailing this time around. Bucky gently nudges his knee and Steve decides to just get it over with and rip it off like a band-aid.

“First off, it was never Howard’s fault. It was my decision to take the serum. Secondly, Buck, neither Stark ever stole me from you. No matter what, it’s to the end of the line, right?” Bucky’s eyes well back up but he licks his lips and nods. Steve isn’t sure he can keep his voice even, but he tries. “Today what you did not only endangered a teammate, but it made me think… I—I can’t do this anymore. I can’t have one of my men turning on another.”

“Stevie, it was a mistake, okay? I know I fucked up.”

“That doesn’t matter, Bucky. And this—this thing we have isn’t fair to either of us. I just _can’t_.” Bucky reaches for his hands but Steve shakes his head and gets up. “I don’t think _you_ understand this time. I love you, and you know that. But, Bucky, this has got to stop.”

“I’ll do better. I’ll lay off Stark. Hell, I’ll move in with Barton if space is what you need.”

“No! I don’t want space. Why won’t you listen to me for once in your fucking life?”

“I know you’re mad, and I’m sorry—”

Steve cuts him off. “Bucky, I’m not the same person that went into that ice. That’s one thing you were right about. I had to fend for myself when I woke up and I grieved you and Peggy all over again, but this is—I’m different.”

“But I know who you are.”

“Maybe you think you do, but you don’t know what I look like when I’m not in love with you. Maybe that’s why we’re stuck, ‘cause I _do_ love you, but…”

Bucky looks up at him through a veil of messy hair, his expression wounded and utterly defeated, and says; “I know I'm not the same person you once knew either, but if you could give me some time...”

“We both know time is bullshit,” Steve remarks and forcibly pries his gaze from Bucky’s. He’s said his piece, had questions answered, and if he stands for one more minute, he’s going to collapse. With a barely audible ‘ _night, Buck’_ Steve trudges into his bedroom and shuts the door with a soft click. He isn’t sure if Bucky stays in his old room across the hall or leaves, he doesn’t hear anything. After a quick shower where he cries harder than he has since he woke up, Steve finally does collapse into bed. Too tired to toss and turn, he curls onto his side like he used to when he was small and couldn’t get warm. It’s only hours later when his pillow is soaked, and his chest literally aches, that he falls asleep.

 

\- - -

 

In the following weeks, Bucky learns a hard lesson and it’s this: Unrequited love? It’s a fucking bitch. What makes it worse is that Steve is still his best friend. He still sees him every day, still talks to him, and it is hell. Steve, while cautious, seeks him out for sparing, for breakfast. They still run with Sam in the mornings. It’s almost as if nothing has changed but in reality, everything has. Bucky finds that his training comes in handy, he uses it to push his emotions down, because crying doesn’t help anything. And he refuses to beg Steve to reconsider. They’re both stubborn and his pride is already bruised enough, thanks. His ‘therapy’ sessions with Sam have turned into a farce where he doesn’t talk and Sam just sighs a lot and types up crap on his phone. Bucky thinks it’s cute that he thinks he doesn’t know he’s texting Natalia. At least someone in their sorry-ass group is happy.

Bucky doesn’t start moving his stuff out of Steve’s apartment until about two weeks after their breakup. He walks into the kitchen on the communal floor one day after kicking Barton’s ass at rummy, and it’s sort of like stepping into one of his nightmares. Sam, Steve, Bruce, and Stark are all hanging around the island and laughing at some joke or something that he missed. But that isn’t what makes him do an abrupt about-face. Steve has one hand on Tony’s shoulder, the other over his own heart, and his head is thrown back in laughter. He looks so damn _happy_ , his face completely lit up, and Bucky feels simultaneously thrilled and sickened. That night he drinks all of Clint’s alcohol hoping against hope that he’ll get drunk.

The next day he waits till Steve is out of the tower with Natalia and packs up his room. His meager belongings fit into two bags; a duffle of weapons, and a backpack of his clothes and what books he’s accumulated since he moved in. It’s a sorry sight his closet makes with a single suit hanging there by its lonesome. He opts out of dinner with the team that night, instead sulking on Barton’s balcony. He glares at the nearly starless sky and for the first time as long as he can remember, he wants out of New York.

The following week, Bucky decides to make a few changes. He makes sure to still go running in the mornings so Steve won’t start being nosey. He eats with the team and pretends that he isn’t planning his escape. He lives out of his bag in Barton’s spare room and he plots. It isn’t until a Tuesday morning nearly a month _after,_ that he acts. Bucky is pretty sure that Steve doesn’t even know that he moved out, but he’s positive that he’ll notice when he leaves. So he does his best to keep it a secret, not even telling Clint.

After his run that morning, he waves Sam and Steve off, insisting that he promised to meet Barton at a diner. They part, but Bucky doesn’t go to a diner. He goes to a barber where Clint _is_ waiting for him. Technically he didn’t lie. The night before Barton had picked at him when his hair kept getting in his face, calling him ‘Snape’. (Bucky is only on Year 4, so he’s not impressed with the comparison.) He’d suggested getting it trimmed or something, ‘ _Seriously, I’m getting tired of finding hair in the drain. It’s like living with a_ girl _.'_ , and Bucky had finally agreed, but on the condition that he went with him. The archer had joked and promised to buy him ice cream after if he was a good little assassin. Bucky raises a brow at the peeling orange, folding chair from the balcony in Clint’s hand and he just shrugs then ushers him in. Bucky is proud that he only slightly hesitates at the sight of the barber chairs. But Barton brushes past him and shakes hands with the elderly man holding a pair of sheers.

He watches Clint from the safety by the door as he talks to the man that’s smaller than him with a grin. His gray head nods and he points to an empty spot on the other side of the room and Bucky’s eyes widen a titch as realization sets in. Barton plops the ugly orange chair down and gestures to it grandly.

“Your throne awaits, Sir.”

Narrowing his eyes, Bucky refuses to respond to that and cautiously moves to take a seat. Clint on the other hand hops up into one of the sinister barber chairs and makes himself at home. From that moment, it’s all white noise to Bucky. He listens to Clint talking to the barber and watches in the mirror as locks of his hair are snipped off. With each snick of the scissors he feels lighter and _different_. He doesn’t realize that he’s grinning until a slightly shaky hand rests on his shoulder and Bucky glances up to the elder man, then at Barton.

“Now we can see that strong jaw,” he says with a pat to Bucky’s shoulder. “Whatcha think?”

“I like it,” Bucky nods.

Barton won’t let him pay but he still manages to stick a big tip in the jar before they exit. And he does indeed buy him ice cream, too. Then he proceeds to tease Bucky endlessly that he can’t hide behind his hair anymore. Bucky just rolls his eyes, but he smiles the rest of the day. They manage to slip back into the tower without being noticed later, and he’s thankful. After a shower, he dresses in a pair of dark jeans and a simple black t-shirt and spends the afternoon on the balcony with a book and Barton yelling at his TV. It’s the most content he’s been in a year.

That night, Jarvis tells them everyone is gathering for dinner and he and Barton wander up to the kitchen, barefoot and arguing good naturedly about something stupid. Bucky doesn’t even notice Steve is sat at the table between Stark and Sam when he walks in. Nor does he notice how they all grow quiet and stare at him. It’s only when Sam cries ‘ _Come on!’_ , breaking the silence and digs in his back pocket for his wallet before throwing a bill across the table at Natalia that he realizes the attention is on him. He ducks his head and Clint claps a hand on his back then drags him to the table.

“Looks good, Buck,” Steve says later when Bucky leans back and polishes off his beer. He offers him a real smile ‘cause he’s full and sleepy, and he realizes that he’s kind of _happy_. It’s a weird feeling, but nice.

He makes his way back up to Barton’s balcony for a cigarette and relaxes back into the corner, his feet up on the railing. It doesn’t take long for Clint to join him and at first it’s quiet, comfortable. He steals one of Bucky’s smokes and sits down next to him before he speaks.

“I think we need another chair out here,” he says and Bucky hums his agreement. “Or… I’ve got a bigger porch we could sit on.” Bucky turns his head at this and raises a brow at the archer in question. Barton shrugs and takes a drag, blowing out a curl of smoke. “You don’t have to stay here, you know that right?”

He says it so casually that Bucky doesn’t know what to make of it. Pulling nicotine into his lungs, he turns his gaze back to the cloudy sky. Sirens wail a few blocks down, horns honk, and the world spins on. Bucky thinks back to when he left after him and Steve got into that fight over Tony and Howard. Barton had found him first, before Steve and Natalia, in an abandoned warehouse. He’d bought him dinner and just sat in silence with him. He hadn’t begged him to come back, not even mentioned it. Now that he thinks about it, Clint never spoke a word to him in the three days when he would just show up. And he didn’t tell anyone else either. If anything, that makes his decision for him but there’s just one thing he needs to know.

“Can you see the stars?”

 

\- - -

 

Falling back into a routine with the team was easier than Steve suspected. The fact that Bucky seemed to be doing okay made it easier. The fact that Stark slowly seemed to be coming around more, acting like his old self, made it even better. Steve was more than a little surprised when Natasha had acted as Stark’s champion. She assured him that Bucky was going to get over it and that he needed to repair the damage between himself and Tony; for the good of the team. She had been right, so he really shouldn’t have been surprised, though.

Steve wasn’t stupid, he’d noticed that Bucky moved out, but no one would tell him where. Jarvis rattled off something about privacy protocols and even Sam refused using the ‘patient confidentiality’ thing as an excuse. It wasn’t until Bucky walked into the kitchen barefoot, hair cut, and looking more alive than ever that he put two and two together. And he would be lying if he said he hadn’t been hit with a pang of jealousy. He’d received a sharp kick to his shin and been covertly chastised.

It was the two then three mornings that Bucky missed their run that started to worry Steve. Tony tried to placate him, but to no avail. He didn’t like not knowing where Bucky was. It wasn’t out of possessiveness; no it was the nightmares that Hydra had taken him again. He finally went to Natasha and was mildly embarrassed when Sam opened her door in a pair of boxers and still half-asleep. They shoved a cup of coffee into his hands and him into a chair. And that’s how he discovered that Bucky had requested leave from the Avengers, even though it wasn’t necessary, and had taken a vacation. With Barton.

That night, Steve stretches out on Tony’s couch with Stark snoring on his chest, and as he watches the movie they’d put on, he feels old. He’d finally burned a bridge that he never thought would need to be burnt. He has his best friend alive and well, as far as he knows, and he has Tony again. He should be happy, and he is to some extent, but… Steve sighs and curls his arms around Tony and closes his eyes. Maybe everything will look brighter in the morning.

 

* * *

 

Bare-chested and tripping over the hem of his sweatpants, Clint makes his way down the creaky steps, managing to stub his toe and nearly break his neck. Grumbling, eyes still shut, and now limping, he zombie shuffles his way into the farmhouse’s bright kitchen. Following his nose to the coffeepot, he rummages around in the cabinet and comes out with a red, chipped mug that reads; ‘I drink coffee for your protection’. He fills it up and takes a sip, used to the way it burns, and drinks half of it before refilling it.

The smell of tobacco lingers on the breeze that flutters the yellowed curtain over the sink and he turns going in search of it. Pushing the squeaky screen open, Clint pads over, taking a drink and squints into the blue sky. He catches the tilt of Barnes’ lips and holds out the mug.

“What are you so happy about?” he wonders aloud.

“Fresh air,” Bucky replies and offers him the cigarette.

Fair trades and all, Clint takes it with a snort and lowers himself to the steps. The smoke is rich so early in the morning, the coffee is bitter, and Bucky is smiling. Clint barely resists rolling his eyes at the movie like magic of the moment. He exhales and leans back, stretching his legs out, and turns his face to the sun. They’ve promised his sister-in-law they’d go to dinner later and he can’t wait to see his brother’s hellions again, but for now, he’s just gonna enjoy the damn magic. Barnes deserves some after all.

 

_fin._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A few things:  
> One; HELLO! From the other side. I must have called... wait. No. IT'S BEEN SO LONG, GUYS! I'm glad to be back and I bet ya'll hate me after reading that. Hah.  
> Two; this is for my Poppet. It's entirely her fault but I take full responsibility. But in all seriousness, she's been keeping my head above the water and I'm so very grateful to her. Love you, doll.  
> Three; Steve's line 'you don't know what I look like when I'm not in love with you' was totally borrowed from Stefan Salvatore and I'm not even a little sorry.  
> Four; the title was taken from the reason for this damn fic in the first place. Go listen to Keaton Henson's 'You Don't Know How Lucky You Are' and sob like I did.  
> Five; [this](http://orig05.deviantart.net/c15b/f/2015/349/4/3/life_changes__sebastian_stan_x_reader__epilogue_by_sscejm4a-d9kaw7d.jpg) is my Bucky after the haircut. (found on Google) (5 3/4 funfacts; I actually have Barton's red mug and am such a horrible cheater at Operation that my mom did in fact return it to the store when I was a teenager. LOL)  
> And lastly, thanks for reading!


End file.
